


Would You? Um.

by queenklu



Category: Smallville RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-16
Updated: 2010-09-16
Packaged: 2017-10-11 21:23:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenklu/pseuds/queenklu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/m2_homegoods">m2_homegoods</a> flashfic challenge. Prompt: summer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Would You? Um.

Misha stretched out in the sun, every finger extended, every muscle reaching for more light, more heat. It pulsed off the blades of grass crushed under him, around him, turning the insides of his eyelids orange.  
   
Or black, when someone stood over him.  
   
“Are you high?”  
   
Misha didn’t open his eyes. The voice was nice, unfamiliar but warm. He smiled. “No.”  
   
Pause. “Would you like to be?”  
   
The smile stretched into a grin, sunlight painting the cooler, previously shadowed skin of his mouth. “That’s okay,” Misha said, words slipping out like honey, “Workin’ on a natural high.”  
   
“Really?” the voice said, sounding impressed. “Those exist?”  
   
“When you know where to look.” Misha twitched his hand in a gesture the guy could take either as an itch or an invitation. And waited.  
   
Didn’t have to wait long—the shadow shifted, baring Misha’s skin to the sunlight again, and this new friend stretched out beside him, close enough that his fingers brushed the grass against Misha’s knuckles.  
   
“Okay, Master Yoda,” he sighed, but not impatiently, “Now what?”  
   
“Feel the Force,” Misha answered instantly, and got a Wookie call in return. He laughed, laughter rolling out of his chest from deep in his gut, and he let one finger extend, searching for contact. Achieved, the Wookie fell silent.  
   
“It helps if you’ve just spent three hours in a freezing Chem Lab, I should warn you,” Misha murmured, eyelashes brushing across his skin.  
   
“Reeeeally,” the other man drawled. “What about three hours in the basement stacks?”  
   
“For legitimate reasons?”  
   
“For legitimate reasons,” he laughed. It felt even better than Misha’s, maybe because it was turned his way.  
   
Misha grinned. “You don’t even have your eyes closed, do you?” His own flickered open to check, and it felt like all the air spilled out of him at the sight of pale blue eyes staring back, unabashedly, almost translucent in the sunlight.  
   
“I’ve noticed you around,” Michael Rosenbaum, third desk from the end in Misha’s Victorian Literature class, said, smiling lazily from about a hand’s width away. “I find you very attractive.”  
   
“I have this song on my iPod,” Misha blurted.  
   
"Yeah, I..." Michael grinned, white teeth in a broad, cheeky smile before he cleared his throat. “Would you—? Um.”  
   


Misha rolled and tilted his head up, flushed all over with embarassment and the fierce need to shut him up. Instead, his sun-warmed lips found Michael’s slightly chilled ones—already pursed like they were preparing for the trumpet solo—and went to work heating them up. 

  
“Is that a yes?” Michael asked, maybe not such a short time later, sounding a little bewildered.  
   
Misha knew how he felt, and flashed him a grin. “Buy me an ice cream and I’ll think about it.” 


End file.
